Evil Plans
by TragicBlackButterfly
Summary: Quirrell finds out Voldemort has been doing something behind his back... Quirrellmort/Quirrelmort based on AVPM (A Very Potter Musical)


**So I just moved and needed to write some angst to get out all my frustration from the long drive….So here! Have some angst! I hope you enjoy!**

**I own nothing.**

Voldemort smiled to himself as he listened to the noises his partner was making upstairs. It had taken far too much bribery, but he had finally managed to get Quirrell to clean out his side of the closet. Voldy may love Quirrell with all his soul, literally and figuratively, but Quirrell's messiness still drove him insane. He supposed Quirrell being a single professor before they became attached had something to do with it, but the man just didn't know how to pick up after himself! Books and papers had their place, and so did his clothes! Now if only he could get Quirrell to realize that…

The noises stopped, and Voldemort sighed. Quirrell must have gotten distracted by another Jane Austen novel or something of the like, and it had only take him…a little under ten minutes. That was a new record. With a shake of his head, he started up the stairs to their shared room to see what had preoccupied Quirrell this time.

When he reached the bedroom, he paused in the doorway to view the man who he considered his soul mate, literally and figuratively. Quirrell was always very thin and incredibly unmuscular, the perfect person for teaching, Voldemort figured. He looked like a professor with that evenly cut hair and warm smile that could make anyone feel important. Shit. Quirrell always did make him into an uncontrollable sap. Voldemort focused again on what Quirrell was doing as he knelt in front of the opened closet, only now noticing the piece of paper he clutched in his hands.

"What's that? Some old essay where you gave the poor kid a B-?"

"I don't know." Quirrell's voice sounded guarded and uncertain, and Voldemort tensed up some. Something was definitely wrong with his Squirrel. Then the ex-professor looked up at Voldy, and the former Dark Lord nearly shuddered at the cold expression he saw there. "Why don't you tell me, Voldemort? This is your handwriting… isn't it?" He thrust the paper toward Voldemort, his arm extended as far as it would go as though he didn't want Voldy to come too close to him. Hesitantly, Voldemort took the paper and backed up another step, trying not to spook Quirrell. He looked down at the paper very slowly, afraid of anything that might have upset Quirrell this much.

The red handwriting was definitely his, no doubt about it, and his stomach soured as he realized what he was looking at. Right up at the top, scribbled in big writing were the words "EVIL PLANS," and a list followed underneath detailing what Voldemort had been considered to be a well-thought plan that involved Death Eaters and returning to power and killing Harry Potter… He felt something cold drop into his stomach as his eyes focused on the date at the top.

Only a month ago. Long after he had returned home to Quirrell.

Oh shit. Oh shit shit shit. Voldemort held the paper away from himself like it might bite him and turned his panicked gaze on his partner. Quirrell had watched him skim the page, still wearing the same stony expression as when Voldy had entered the room. Voldemort had seen that expression before in the graveyard after Quirrell found out he always meant to blame him for Potter's death.

Fuck. He had to fix this. He had to get that look off Quirrell's face.

"Man, listen, I can explain. This isn't what you think it is!"

"Oh, so it's _not_ a new set of evil plans like it says at the top? I already checked for anything hidden on the paper, Voldemort!" Quirrell's voice rose, and he stood up, arms crossed as he waited for a clever comeback. Voldy took another step back.

"No, it…well, it _is_ some new evil plans. But I was never going to go through with any of it! Why are you getting so upset about this?"

"I thought you had changed. You said you didn't want to kill Harry Potter anymore! You said you didn't want to rule the world! Was all that a lie to get me to take you in again?"

"What? No. Calm down, Quirrell, you aren't making any sense." Voldemort immediately regretted the words once he said them. He saw Quirrell's eyes harden and the muscles in his body tighten.

"Calm down?" Oh, shit, now Quirrell was pissed. His voice always went to an almost hysterical tone whenever they argued, but not this time. Now, Quirrell was quiet, and Voldemort had never been more scared in his entire life. He'd faced the Order of the Phoenix, Dumbledore, a talentless two-year-old, but it was an angry Quirinus Quirrell he feared most.

"Yeah, man, just…chill out for a minute and let me explain. This is seriously nothing to get upset about."

Quirrell laughed scornfully. "Oh, no, absolutely not. It's not like your last evil plans didn't get me landed in _fucking Azkaban_."

"Those plans were made before I even knew you! Before we even became friends, or before I—"

"No, don't even say it. Don't even try to say that! You're sneaking around behind my back writing evil plans! W-what will I find next, D-Death Eaters in the kitchen? I'm c-curious about the part I'll get to play this time. P-planning to send me back to Azkaban?"

"Quirrell, calm down. You've started stuttering." Voldemort tried to put his hands on Quirrell's shoulders, but his partner only stepped back out of his reach. "This is seriously nothing. I don't want to be the Dark Lord anymore. I promised you that, remember? I just wrote this for fun! Nothing more."

"I need some air." Quirrell hastily stepped around him, and Voldemort let him go. His feet stayed rooted to the spot, and he strained his ears to hear the faintest traces of Quirrell's footsteps echo throughout the house until the front door slammed.

Fuck. Fuck it all. Shit! Voldemort tore up the paper and threw it on the floor. But that wasn't enough, so he lit in on fire with his want and watched the little pieces burn into nothing but ash on the floor. He stomped on the ashes until he couldn't even see where the pieces had been.

Voldemort sat down against the wall, staring at the window. He could almost imagine Quirrell bustling about in his garden as he tried to calm himself down. Voldemort wanted nothing more than to wrap him in his arms and reassure him that those fucking plans meant _nothing_. Absolutely nothing! He'd wait it out, though. Leave Quirrell alone until he was ready to talk again. Voldy didn't think he could handle another one of those cold stares.

The sun had set by the time he heard Quirrell's soft footsteps coming up the stairs. He waited until Quirrell had walked in and sat down on the bed before looking up at him, and Voldemort felt even worse when he saw Quirrell had been crying. Shit. He was really a piece of shit. Why had he even kept that paper?

"O-okay. I'm ready to listen now." Quirrell's voice sounded tired and almost as raspy as Voldemort's, but the ex-Dark Lord's heart leapt to hear him say that. "Evil plans f-for fun?"

"Quirrell… Before I met you, all I knew how to do was dark magic and kill people. I don't know how to do much else! I got bored and started thinking about if things were different. If I wasn't here, happy, with you. So I sat down and wrote some bullshit evil plan about taking over the world. It didn't make me happy like it used to because I don't need to take over the world to be happy. I have everything I need right here." Voldemort watched Quirrell with hopeful eyes as he spoke, worried he might still be angry. Quirrell didn't say anything, so he kept going. "I have no intentions of ever trying to take over the world again. Even if I did, I'd leave you out of it. You're never going to Azkaban again, and I'll kill anyone who tries to take you!"

"Voldemort." Quirrell smiled faintly and shook his head.

"No, I still hate myself for that!"

"You don't have to. I forgave you a long time ago." With a sigh, Quirrell walked over to Voldemort and held out his hand. "Those plans really were nothing?"

"Nothing, man. Definitely nothing!" Voldemort took the hand immediately and let Quirrell help him up, but he didn't let go of him. Slowly, worried he might still be upset, he placed his free hand on Quirrell's cheek.

"I'm not really a squirrel, you know. You aren't going to scare me off if you move too quickly." Quirrell smiled contentedly and sighed. "I really don't like it when we fight. I'm sorry I reacted like that."

"No, I'm the one who should be apologizing. I should have told you about the evil plans before, I just didn't think they meant anything? It's all I really know how to do." Voldemort started to relax, glad his Quirrell wasn't mad at him anymore. He tugged his partner's body closer and wiggled his eyebrows suggestively. "How about you let me make it up to you?"

Quirrell's smile was nearly blinding, and he eagerly nodded. In fact, he was still nodding when Voldemort's lips descended down upon his. Voldemort placed his hand on the small of Quirrell's back to propel him closer, and Quirrell responded by a pleased sigh and by wrapping his arms around Voldemort's neck.

"Make-up sex?" Voldemort slowly began to push Quirrell toward the bed.

Quirrell laughed and nodded his head. "Make-up sex is wonderful."

"Thought you might say something like that." Voldemort growled playfully and pointed his wand at the light.

**Thanks for reading! If enough of you ask nicely, maybe I'll add a nice, little smutty chapter. Let me know what you think!**


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